


Self-Isolating Together

by curiositydooropened



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Canonical Character Death, F/F, F/M, No Plot/Plotless, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quarantine, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington Friendship, Self-Isolation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23280814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiositydooropened/pseuds/curiositydooropened
Summary: When quarantine is mandated, Steve doesn't want to be alone. Who better to self-isolate with than his homegrown best friend, Robin?---“No.” It was a good thing Steve had the reflex to catch the door before Robin slammed it in his face. “No way. It’s called self-isolating for a reason, and it’s the same reason I got a one bedroom apartment without you. This isn’t happening.”“Come on, Rob,” Steve whined, sneakered foot trapped between door and jam, fingers wrapped tightly at eye level. She grimaced at his touch. “Work booted me for two weeks, and you know I can’t be alone that long.”“Go back to Hawkins then.”“It’s like a ten hour drive by myself, and my parents are stuck in Europe.”
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	Self-Isolating Together

**Author's Note:**

> First, I'd like to preface this by saying my heart goes out to those effected by the CoronaVirus/COVID-19. This fic is in no way making light of this week, I just wanted to write the story stuck in my head. If you would like to learn more about the virus and dealing with quarantine, please head over to my Tumblr @curiositydooropened, where I will drop several links with information including how to sew masks for health care professionals and where to send them in. Thank you and please enjoy!

“No.” It was a good thing Steve had the reflex to catch the door before Robin slammed it in his face. “No way, shitbird. It’s called self-isolating for a reason, and it’s the same reason I got a one bedroom apartment without you. This isn’t happening.” 

“Come on, Rob,” Steve whined, sneakered foot trapped between door and jam, fingers wrapped tightly at eye level. She grimaced at his touch. “Work booted me for two weeks, and you know I can’t be alone that long.” 

“Go back to Hawkins then.” 

“It’s like a ten hour drive by myself, and my parents are stuck in Europe.” 

“Shit. Are they okay?” The sudden sympathetic switch to her voice signaled her surrender, and Robin stepped backwards into her apartment.

Steve shrugged, pushing the door open to let himself in. “As of eighteen hours ago, Mom sent a text and said they’re fine. Just stuck.” 

“Jesus.” Robbin hugged her upper half, chewing on her plump bottom lip to weigh her options. He was in now. Not like she had the strength or willpower to kick him out. Well, she could, but he knew she wouldn’t. She rolled her eyes.

“I love you, best friend.” He waggled his eyebrows.

She scoffed. “Just don’t touch anything until you wash you hands. Dump your bag by the door.” 

He did as instructed, dramatically holding his hands upward and avoiding obstacles on his path to the kitchen sink like a surgeon between sanitation and the Operating Room. He washed with soap and water, loudly humming _Happy Birthday_ to appease his new roommate.

“Ha ha,” she spoke dryly, leaning against the counter beside him. “You aren’t staying for two weeks, you know. I’ll murder you before then.” 

“As soon as I’m a nuisance, I’m out,” he agreed, rinsing suds down the drain with nearly scalding water.

“Okay. Get out.”

He flicked water at her as it dripped from his fingers, and she squawked, snapping the hand towel to his arm. He yanked it from her, drying his knuckles before tossing it aside and leaning beside her. He’d let a little spill over the sink and he felt the water slowly dampen the waistband of his jeans. He sighed. “So, what do you wanna do, roomie?”

“I actually can’t stand you.” She groaned, bumping his elbow with her own.

— — —

They’d settled on an _Alien_ franchise marathon, which Steve would have never agreed to without Robin’s coaxing. And yet halfway through Aliens, he was nodding off at one end of the couch and Robin was texting on the other. He nudged her with his toe.

“You going to spend time with your houseguest or what?”

“Hm?” She continued to stare at her screen, tapping away, the soft blue light illuminating her freckled face. 

“Earth to Robin,” Steve toed her again. “I need attention.” 

“You need a girlfriend.” 

“I have you.” 

“You need a real one. One who likes boys.” 

“Yeah?” He sighed, puffing up the pillow under his head. “And where am I going to find one of those?” It seemed to be Robin’s life purpose to try to set him up with someone. Maybe she thought he was still attracted to her and needed a distraction, but any semblance of a crush faded the day he saw her wolf down fifteen hot dogs in a competition and immediately vomit them back into the tin bucket beside her.

“The inter, I’ve told you a million times.”

He groaned. “You know I hate those dating apps. It feels so objectifying.”

"As much as the woman race appreciates your fall from grace as Slimeball of the Century, you have to suck it up and get yourself back out there. Because this pathetic, whiny Steve wouldn’t exist if you finally got laid.”

“Well unless you’re offering, we’re supposed to be self-distancing. So I don’t see that happening for at least two weeks.” 

Robin shot him a sly grin, wagging her phone in his direction. “There are other ways, my dude. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to bed.” She leaned forward and turned up the volume on the television.

“You’re disgusting!” He yelled in her general direction, chucking a throw pillow at her. It hit her bedroom door where her smug face had been.

He rolled over and pulled out his own mobile device. Maybe she was right. His thumb hovered over the Tinder logo. He had several matches in the city, and a few DMs he hadn’t replied to. It just felt icky, for lack of a better term, like he wasn’t really trying to get to know these women. They definitely weren’t trying to get to know him. No one actually cares what his favorite cereal is. They’re just trying to figure out what to stock for the morning after. 

His brain overrode his finger and he ended up on TikTok instead, scrolling through endless videos of the nerds dancing with their siblings and trying to keep entertained during their own quarantines. Dustin posted a video an hour, documenting his day in a night vision filter, like a data log in a found footage film. Only he hadn’t done anything more interesting than eat four Snack Packs. So it was a typical Friday for him.

Steve checked Snapchat next, an app next to no one used, but the familiar notification from Nancy sent a familiar little flutter to his stomach. She’d sent a selfie in a face mask filter. It gave her thick, black eyeliner above a black leather mask, very much the contrast from her bubblegum pastel aesthetic. 

He smiled, using the same filter to respond. He retook it a few times, getting the right angle to illuminate his face from the glow of the television. **bitchin’**

He typed El’s new favorite phrase. She’d recently discovered the punk subculture of the 90s and used phrases like “bitchin’” and “gnarly” on every Insta story and TikTok caption.

He was shocked at the immediacy of Nancy’s response. Her next photo was dark, her soft features lit only from her phone screen. She lay on a fluffy pillow, curls tickling her cheekbones. A concerned look furrowed her brows and puckered her lips. _**Are you at home?**_

He snapped a photo of Robin’s television. **nah. convinced rob to take me in**.

Again, she responded quickly. This time, she was smiling. _**Good. Glad you aren’t alone.**_

His heart swelled. He knew it shouldn’t, knew he should be over her by now. It had been two years, and she was with Jonathan, and they were happy. 

He sent a photo of the dark room around him. **me too. nite nance.**

Nancy’s eyes were closed, nose scrunched around a smile. _ **Night, Steve. Miss you. xx**_

He shut off his phone and rolled over, letting the sounds of flame throwers and machine guns drown out the dull ache and gaping void in his chest.

— — —

Steve didn’t anticipate accidentally starting a fight on the first full day, but there he was, gangly legs tucked under him on the couch, mindlessly scrolling when Robin went in on him. All he’d done was offer to PostMate Mediterranean from their favorite place down the street, half-jokingly. Robin did not find him humorous, and he jumped at the slamming of her refrigerator door.

“No, dingus, we cannot just ask a random stranger to handle our food in his disgusting car two blocks just so we can eat.” 

“Great, so we’ll go pick it up.” 

“What is wrong with you? Can you take nothing seriously ever in your entire life?” Her tone, though always vaguely insulting, held no such understanding or humor. Instead her words felt cold, piercing.

He turned to look at her, nostrils flared and fists clenched on the edge of the linoleum countertop. “Whoa, Jesus, Rob, I was joking. Thought I’d lighten the mood. What’s your deal?”

“My deal? My deal, Harrington, is that I’ve somehow managed to confine myself to this tiny shithole with someone like you, who is constantly trying to ‘lighten the mood’ when the rest of the Goddamn world is going through something traumatic.” 

Steve fought back an eye roll. Robin Buckley, ladies and gentlemen, drama queen, people’s rights activist, extraordinaire. He really should have anticipated this. Instead, he stood from his crumpled position on the couch and stretched his limbs over his head. “Alright, alright. If it’s bothering you that much, I’ll leave.”

Robin harrumphed, hands on hips, bare foot tapping against beige tile. She didn’t respond, or stop him as he shut his laptop lid and shoved it into his bag by the door. He pretended to ignore her as she let out a dramatic sigh and crossed to her pantry cupboard.

“We have pita and hummus. Is that going to be enough for you, princess?” She scoffed.

“Ooh,” he shrugged. “I was hoping for falafel.” 

She reached into the cupboard and extracted a can of chickpeas before tossing it across the room. “Start blending.” 

He caught it and joined her in the kitchen to help place vegetables and pita on a serving platter for the both of them. Four carrots in, he bumped her with his hips. “Is everything okay though? End of the world aside?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” She avoided eye contact.

“Robin. It’s me, Steve, your best friend.” 

She sighed and shrugged under his knowing gaze, and she shot a displeased look at her phone charging near her keys and wallet on the counter. “Francesca’s pissed at me.” 

“Ah,” Steve nodded, slapping a hefty dollop of hummus onto her pita and then his own. “And Francesca is...?”

“The girl I’m... I don’t know. Seeing, I guess. Texting, calling, FaceTiming.” Robin threw her hands in the air for dramatic effect. He supposed you could take the girl out of drama club, but it never really left the girl, did it?

“Why is she pissed?”

“Because,” Robin spoke through a mouthful of pita. “She saw you being an idiot on my Insta story earlier.”

“And?”

“And I’ve barricaded myself from the world with you and I have committed to only communicating with her via the internet, dingus.” 

Steve picked carrot out of his molars with his tongue, contemplating her predicament and ways to fix it. He supposed he would also be pissed if let’s say Nancy was dating him but decided to hole up with Byers, before they were dating, of course. But that was a totally different ball game. “She knows you’re gay, right?”

“Yes, Steve, she knows I’m gay, but like... it doesn’t look great on my part to tell her countless times it’s safer to stay indoors and then let you waltz in like you own the place.” 

“Okay, well, do you even like her?”

“Yes!” Robin sighed, dipping her half eaten pita directly into the hummus. So much for the spread of germs. “I do, I really like her. Like, really, really like her.” 

“So invite her over now.”

“No, God no. Jesus, no wonder you’re single for life.” 

“Hey!”

“I just mean, if I invite her over now, she’ll think it’s just because she wants me to, and it won’t feel genuine. And I’m really not prepared for her to meet you. I can’t scare her away.” 

“Okay, unfair,” Steve prodded her hand with his carrot. She swatted him away. “Have you told her how you feel?”

Robin stared at her plate, shaking her head like a guilty five-year-old asked to apologize to a classmate. 

“That’d probably be a good start.” 

“Yeah? And who are you to give me relationship advice, Harrington? I saw you Snapping Nancy shirtless pictures this morning.” 

Steve had been caught in the act. He tried to played it off so smoothly too, also posting fresh-out-of-the-shower thirst traps on his Instagram to make sure Nancy wasn’t suspicious of his lack of wardrobe. His snaps to her were all smiles and dribbled toothpaste, relatable and modest, asking her how quarantine was going and if she had any book recommendations for the long haul.

She did, _Don Quixote_. And she shared her suggestions in a perfect powder blue camisole, makeup free, with her hair clipped up on the sides and out of her face.

“Steve,” Robin scolded. “You’ve got to get over it. Nancy’s happy, and she’s far too nice of a person to cut the cord and break your heart. So you’re going to have to be the one to stop contact.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled into his hummus.

— — —

After a long day of mutual sulking and watching various garbage content on their separate devices, Steve and Robin decided to open the bottle of Stoli at the back of Robin’s cupboard. She had some cranberry juice in her fridge left over from her last UTI (“ _TMI, Rob_!”), and they decided to pour a couple of glasses and toast to Mother Russia.

It was a habit they’d been out of for a couple of months, trying to separate Hawkins life from life in the city. The vodka was reserved for particularly bad nights, long car rides, and the middle of cattle pastures. The night of Billy Hargrove’s funeral was one of those nights. Seeing Max that beat up over her dick of a brother was hard for all of them to watch. Knowing they’d had a hand in it was somehow more difficult to deal with.

Now though, they seemed to be celebrating the end of the world and being bad at girls and things, Steve couldn’t really remember. His head felt fuzzy, and his entire body was warm enough to strip off his sweatshirt by the collar.

“Why are you always naked, Harrington?” Robin cackled, tossing a tv remote in his direction. 

It bounced from his chest and thudded against the concrete floors, and the two of them howled in laughter. 

“Okay, okay,” Robin breathed, clutching at the stitch in her side. They’d gone drink for drink, and she was easily further gone than Steve, lacking experience and body mass. “Truth or dare.” 

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. He shrugged. “Are we five?”

“Truth or dare, dingus!” 

He laughed with her. He couldn’t help it. She was infectious, hyper and annoying, but endearingly so. “Fine, truth.” 

“Are you... still in love with me?”

It was her control question, like in a lie detector test. He thought she used it to see his mood, to gauge whether or not he was really going to play the game. 

“No, freak,” he responded, toeing at her exposed thigh across the couch. “I’m not still in love with you.” 

“Fine,” she threw a dramatic hand to her brow, giggling to break the fourth wall. “Your turn.” 

He sighed. “Alright, truth or dare.” 

“Dare.” She shot him a look with that fire in her eye, the one he’d seen time and time again in the face of real danger. Only now, the only danger was the world outside those four walls, a world without toilet paper.

“Okay, I dare you...” He looked around the apartment for something she could do that would feel mildly entertaining at this point in time. 

“I dare you to let me infiltrate your Tinder.” Robin cut him off, grasping his direction with tired movements.

Steve snorted through an eye roll, pulling his phone from between the creases of his legs for her to use. He supposed there wasn’t too much harm. He’d never speak to those women again, best case scenario, and worst case, she’d say something awful and he’d have a girl at a waitress if this self-distancing thing ever let up. Robin wouldn’t say anything awful anyway, being hyper-aware, hyper-“woke”, as they say.

“Yes!” Robin cheered, crawling closer so he could see over her shoulder. He’d gotten yelled at about proximity earlier, but apparently drunk Robin was blissfully unaware enough. He was just happy he didn’t have to think of a dare.

She spent a few seconds swiping, matching a handful of times, but she quickly grew bored of scoffing at girls she didn’t seem fit for her dingus. She switched over to the messaging function.

“Oh my God!” She squawked upon entry.

“What?” Steve laughed, picking apart the names to see what had her so shaken. None of the names sounded familiar or at all remarkable, just a lot of Jens and Jessicas and Stephanies.

“You haven’t responded to any of these women, dingus!” With a sigh of disapproval, she started her journey to find Steve Harrington love, like a virtual set of the Bachelor. 

“It looks like you had some rapport with Dana a couple of weeks ago. What was wrong with her?”

Robin scrolled through Dana’s profile. She was hot, curvy, short hair, kind of a badass. She was a hairstylist, it looked like. Her opening line was even about how great Steve’s hair was. He shrugged. “Nothing, I guess.” He wracked his brain to remember their interaction. He supposed it was during a particular Snapchat dry spell. Was it Valentine’s Day? That was a busy Tinder weekend for him.

“Well, I’m messaging her again.” 

And it went like that for a half hour, Robin scolding him at poor love life decisions and quickly trying to patch up broken contact with strangers. He was shocked to have received a few responses. People must really be bored. 

A few of the women responded “Hey, ghost”, which prompted Robin into drunken lectures about why Steve needs to be kinder to the women he communicates with. He agreed. It’s shitty to ghost people, but he knew Robin would be just as disappointed if he told every woman on the app he wasn’t interested because his heart was still wrapped up in his high school sweetheart, the love of his life.

Finally, Robin had connected with a girl named Roxanne, who owned a parakeet and happened to follow Steve on Insta after their last encounter around Christmas. Roxanne was still single, appreciated his (Robin’s) apology, and was happy to chat about life through the messaging function on Insta. Robin tutted Steve’s head with her hand and sent herself to bed, hiccuping. Her job was done.

— — —

Robin woke him up at 6AM because he was screaming in his sleep. He didn’t remember his dream, though nightmares usually rotated between five set situations. He was either with Byers and Nancy and the lights, or his pool, or the junkyard, or the secret base, or the mall. According to Robin, he was screaming for “Hargrove” to “watch out”. Ah, the mall then.

He was dripping with sweat, and Robin fetched him a large glass of water while he traipsed to the bathroom to towel off. He didn’t look hot, pale skin slightly green, normally lustrous hair clinging to his forehead like rats fighting their way out of the sewer. He splashed cold water over his face, ignoring the lingering doom that tickled at his spine and hung out just over his shoulder. 

“There’s pain meds in the cabinet,” Robin called softly.

He swung the mirror toward himself, ducking in the cramped bathroom. The generic brand bottle sat on the lowest shelf. It rattled it his hands as he removed the child-lock lid.

“Grab me some, will ya?” She groaned.

He popped two in his mouth, palming two more to meet Robin on his makeshift bed, covers tangled and strewn on the floor. They traded pills for water, and the cool condensation of the glass felt nice in his hand.

He collapsed in the spot next to her.

“You okay?”

He shrugged, staring blankly at the various liberal paraphernalia on the wall behind her television. “I guess. I don’t really remember my dream.” 

“I didn’t know you were still having them.” 

“I’m not, really. Just when I like... drink. I think that might be the trigger.” 

“Shit. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he kicked at her ankle. “I’m the one that pulled it out of the cupboard.” 

After a long silence, Robin spoke with the least conviction he’d heard from her... ever. “You know you couldn’t have done anything, right?” 

Steve turned to her with furrowed eyebrows, wondering what the hell she was going for here.

“With Billy.” Her voice broke on the boy’s name. “He was long gone. I mean, the shit that was in his system. He wouldn’t have made it anyway.” 

Steve felt his face flush, and he ducked his head. He supposed they’d never really talked about it, about Billy, even on their most open of nights. They talked about being tortured, drugged, barely skating back with their lives or at least minimal brain damage. Robin never knew the extent of guilt that Steve harbored for his high school rival, how responsible he felt for the kid’s death. If only they had more fireworks, if only they closed the gate faster, if only he’d hit his car a little harder.

“I know, Rob. It’s just weird. I’ve never seen anyone die before, and I knew him. You know? We partied together. He kicked my ass once. Like, we had lockers next to each other in the locker room.” 

“Okay, we might need to unpack that one later.” Her tone was teasing, but soft, gentle with him. 

Steve snorted and shook his head.

Robin reached across and pulled his hand into her own. It reminded him of that time on the roof in the rain, before all of the trouble unfolded. 

“I love you, dingus.” 

“Love you too.” 

— — —

Work started the next morning, leaving the two of them propped against the countertop, staring at their laptop screens and sipping matcha from handmade mugs. Steve had been “fortunate” enough to work customer service for his dad, which typically involve emailing people about their various issues with finances. Last week’s stock market plummet had been a fun one. Steve felt overjoyed when Mom convinced Dad to force him to work remotely in order to avoid getting sick. 

Robin was a sort of jack of all trades. She did a lot of translation online, transcriptions and whatnot, headphones heavy and covering both ears. She couldn’t hear Steve talking to himself. He might as well have been alone. Occasionally, during the week, she’d hop into her bedroom to Skype her students. She taught private lessons for kids with various woodwind instruments. That alone made her pretty decent money.

Steve found himself drained within the first few days, unable to concentrate and needing an out. Luckily, Robin made up a grocery list and sent him out. She told him to be very careful and only touch the essentials. And that she’d be waiting by the door with soap and water upon his return. 

So, he shoved a beanie over his mess of hair and went out. It was cold, for March, and he didn’t appreciate the chill of frost pulling at his nostril hair and giving him the sniffles. One little inhale was enough to send a woman gasping with terror as she crossed the road. 

He made it to the corner store and soon realized he’d have to abandon his list. The shelves low of stock, and by the looks of it, they’d be wiping their asses with their hands in a few short days. He got what he could, piling it into Robin’s reusable bag, only touching the essentials. And he made sure to use the self check out on his way out. 

He made it back out the cold streets, bags slumped over each shoulder, and his phone started ringing from the buds in his ears. Hands full and incapable of reaching his phone in his back pocket, he struggled to press the tiny headphone in his ear. “Hello?”

‘“Steve? Hey.” Came the soft response of a voice he’d never forget. 

“Nancy?”

“Yeah, sorry, is this a bad time? Are you working?”

“No, no, no, no. This is fine. I’m just uh... getting groceries.” A bag slipped down the crook of his arm and he wondered how the hell women carried purses on a daily basis. 

“How was the grocery store?”

“Practically a wasteland.”

His heart did a backflip at her chuckle. Nancy’s voice was like a breath of fresh air in the stale, eery climate of a city under quarantine. It was like, as soon as she started talking, he could smell flowers blossoming in the park, feel the spring breeze roll by. She lifted the bitter cold.

“Have you been keeping yourself busy?” She asked.

He shrugged. “I’ve hunkered down with Robin, so we’ve just been watching old movies from the 80s and eating a lot of hummus. How about you?”

“Also 80 movies marathons. What a coincidence.” 

“Anything good?”

“Jonathan forced me to watch _The Evil Dead_ finally, and it actually wasn’t bad.” 

Steve scrunched up his nose. He wasn’t sure if it was to block the wind or the scent of Jonathan’s name lingering in the air between them. “You turning into a big horror fan then?”

“God, no,” she cackled on her line. “I still prefer staring out the window looking longingly at empty streets. Feels like the end of the world, doesn’t it?” She snickered.

“A little bit, yeah.” He chuckled. “But, nothing we haven’t dealt with before.” 

She went quiet then, well, quieter. A knowing...something passed between them. She thought of Barb, he knew, and he thought of her, back to him, arm outstretched with a gun. A pitter of panic surged through him.

“Steve,” she barely spoke.

“Yeah, Nance?” He hadn’t realized he’d stopped walking. He picked up his pace again.

“Do you think this has anything to do with...?” She didn’t need to finish her thought.

“No,” he spat out before he had a proper answer. It terrified him, the idea that people were trapped in their homes, waiting for the world to crumble in vines and flower-mouthed faces. He glanced across the road at a woman delivering groceries to her neighbor. “No, Nance, I don’t.” The two women turned to smile and wave. He feebly attempted to wave back.

“How can you be so sure?” There was the stubborn Nancy he knew and loved.

“Because,” he smiled softly to himself. “If he was taking over, we’d be alone, isolated, sure. But something about this feels like it’s pulling us all together. Don’t you think? I mean, people are bringing their neighbors groceries. Have you seen the amount of instagram lives this week? Dozens. And did you watch that video of Italians singing from their balconies?”

Nancy chuckled. “Yeah, I did.” 

“See? If the world was ending, we wouldn’t be so supportive of each other.”

She paused for a moment, soaking it all in before her soft response. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.” 

He grinned, struggling to lift his arm enough to push the button for entry into the apartment building. Robin buzzed him in without question. “Well, I’m back, and I’ve got to put the groceries away.” He climbed the stairs a few at a time. 

“Okay. Stay safe. I’ll snap you later.”

“Please do. Thanks for calling.” He wrapped his knuckles on Robin’s front door. 

“Tell Robin hi!”

“Tell Byers hi.”

Robin shot him a confused look, giving him a wide berth to dump the bags on the counter and wash his hands. With hurried goodbyes, Nancy clicked off the phone. 

“Longer than that!” Robin scolded when he turned off the faucet. 

Smiling to himself, he turned the water back to hot and scrubbed for a second time, loudly singing the chorus to Toto’s _Africa_. 

“I hate you.” Robin grinned, unloading the groceries into the pantry. 

Steve sprinkled her with water from his fingertips and dried his knuckles with the towel. 

**Author's Note:**

> I had way too much fun writing this. I live for the Steve/Robin dynamic, and this just poured out of me. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing. I love a good little fluffy friendship with major sarcasm and a little angst. I also love the idea of Steve pining for Nancy. I don't know why, but it just feels realistic for someone, who hasn't yet moved on, to be in love with their high school sweetheart. So yes. Let me know what you thought! Come chat with me on Tumblr. @curiositydooropened Thanks, as always, for reading xo


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